


Into the Deep

by FireyFlamey



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bilgewater - Freeform, Blood and Gore, Brutal Murder, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, F/M, Slow Burn, Sort of..., Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21979039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireyFlamey/pseuds/FireyFlamey
Summary: After one of her plans to take down Gangplank backfires in the worst possible way, Sarah Fortune finds herself saved by the last person she'd expect. Turns out her revenge plan is one of the cogs in a bigger machine.
Relationships: Miss Sarah Fortune/Pyke
Comments: 70
Kudos: 82





	1. The Plan

**Author's Note:**

> It's a ship I never considered until one day I did and it basically overtook my mind,, Hope you enjoy it! It'll probably be pretty long.

Months of preparations, planning, gathering the crew. Months of training, of stalking, of considering. She thought she had everything ready. She thought the time of her revenge has come.

The cannon balls piercing through her ship, the bullets killing her crew one by one, proved her wrong. She grit her teeth, hiding behind the mast, grip tight on her guns. If she goes down, she'll take the bastard with her. No matter what. The volleys of bullets had a rhythm to them, and she found a moment for her to sing, too.

But just as she wanted to reach out and risk her one shot at revenge, a cannon ball hit the mast, and she found herself jumping to the side to avoid certain death. She turned around and fired blindly. One shot. One shot was all she managed before a bullet hit her, throwing her off balance. She tripped on the edge and, grasping one final look at the bearded captain staring back at her, his pistol aimed at her, smoking... fell into the water.

The abyss of Bilgewater was known to devour its victims mercilessly. She tried to keep her eyes open, to focus on the bright surface, but the pain and the hungry water kept her eyes unfocused, her mind blank. She closed her eyes, unable to fight against it, and let the deep take her.

Ghostly touch on her cheek, her barely conscious mind registered, a breath near her ear, a haunting whisper, in a voice far from reassuring - _"sleep"_.

* * *

The sound of the waves was nothing new to her, but the sound of birds and leaves was. She grunted, feeling her hips for Shock and Awe. They were there, secure in their sheaths. She waited a second, then another, before she opened her eyes.

She was on a beach, an actual beach, empty and peaceful, unlike the busy harbours of her home. The waves crushed on the shore in front of her, the forest towered behind her. The smell of the water was familiar, and she knew there were more... tourist-friendly spots in Blue Flame Isles. She couldn't be too far from the city.

She tried to stand up and the piercing pain in her shoulder started the flood of memories. She growled. Gangplank. That scurvy bastard was still out there, probably drinking over his victory. Which meant she was not done. Which meant she didn't have time to lie on a random beach that the waters of Bilgewater spat her out on, bless them. Apparently even the serpents knew her job was not done.

As she managed to get up, the silence hit her. The waves were still there, of course, but all other sounds were... gone. The animals were silent, even the plants seemed to be frozen in place. She readied the pistols. Silence was never a good sign in these parts of the world. But she also learnt that whatever causes the silence is bound to break it eventually. So, she listened.

A sound of water, unlike the natural waves, more deep and out of rhythm with the surroundings, was the only warning she got. She twirled around, shooting without aiming, but she only managed to catch a glimpse of a silhouette, seemingly made of toxic water, of a form that disappeared so fast, she would doubt herself if it was ever even there. But she knew the stories. Everyone in Bilgewater knew them. The stories of the demon haunting the city. Of the ghost, who could fade into and from the world as he pleased. Of the drowned harponeer, who seeked revenge on everyone and anyone. She also knew that people who met him personally never lived to tell the story.

Deep breaths, Sarah. Deep breaths. She steadied the grip on the pistols, slowly turning around, taking steps towards the trees. Ain't the first time you meet a myth, ain't the first time you're gonna live through it.

She took careful steps, listening to the stiff air. When she heard the sound again, it was behind her once again. She swung her elbow back, and definitely hit _something_. When she turned fully, getting ready for a shot, two wet hands closed around her wrists. She fired, right into the shadow of a face in front of her, but the bullets went right through. The hands let go too, though.

She noted the dependence and risked a firm step forward.

The experience was... definitely new to her. Nothing physical stopped her, but she felt _something_ going through her, _her_ going through something. She instantly felt nauseous, and exhausted, and livid, and everything at once. Her heart stopped for a single second, but she kept going, and when she was through with it, she bent over herself coughing. Mistake. Big mistake.

The blade stopped at her skin, but still tore through it, ever so slightly. The green harpoon pulsated with energy, seemingly alive. The hand holding it was very much physical, at last. She smiled, her throat bleeding slightly more after she swallowed.

"Well then, ask me for my name so we can get this over with," she said quietly, the weapon hurting more with each word.

She was surprised when the answer came, rough and angry and barely human. "I don't need to ask for your name, _Sarah Fortune_."

She blinked. Uh-oh. But the weapon didn't move. They stood in silence for a moment far longer than she found comfortable, stuck together by the harpoon. When she grew tired of waiting, and bold enough to risk it, she slowly moved back, inching away from the green energy. The weapon didn't follow, and soon she stood face to face with the famous Ripper.

"So," she started again, feeling a little cocky. There was something stopping him from killing her. Bilgewater folks don't play with their prey. "Am I not on your list?"

The man in front of her frowned, but straightened up, throwing the harpoon in the air to catch it right after, posing himself in less battle-ready stance. "Everyone is," he said simply. She tilted her head, wrists on the hips, and he sighed. His frown deepened, "but you have to finish something first."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, so this is a destiny thing? Let me guess... I have a favor to pay to whatever creature saved me from drowning, and they sent _you_ to make sure I do it?"

His blue eyes stared at her for a moment. She allowed herself to pay more attention to the man's general looks. The crimson red bandanna with teeth embroidery seemed quite dramatic, but not unfitting. She wondered what creature gave its jaw to work as the man's collar. If the stories were true, probably a jaull-fish. The harpoons and coins probably belonged to the bottom of the deep waters. And the rest was pretty basic, the clothes he must've drowned in.

"No favor needed," he finally replied, and she got caught off-guard by the _sassy_ tone. She never thought the guy would have any personality, let alone a sense of humour. Fortunately she didn't need to figure out a comeback to this one, because the man's finally decided to speak more than one sentence at a time. "My bosses decided you will be the one to put an end to Gangplank." He snarled that out, clearly unhappy with someone taking _his_ kill.

She smirked. "No need to worry then, honey. Been thinkin' of nothing else for past ten years."

"And yet never succeeded," the man shot back, crossing his arms. "Lost your crew. Lost the ship."

Now it was Miss Fortune's time to frown. "I gathered it all once, I'll gather it again. Don't you worry your drowned little ass 'bout me."

His eyes narrowed, and she wasn't sure whether it was a smile or a snarl behind the red bandanna. "And he's just gonna defeat you again."

She straightened up, and the ghost's relaxed pose turned into a cautious, ready one. He took a step back, leaned forward, observed. She wasn't sure how much of that were trained behaviours and how much pure animalistic instincts - it didn't matter. She was Miss Fortune, the embodiment of danger, and she'd be glad that even the monsters from the depths realise that, maybe, if she wasn't so pissed.

"Listen here, water boy," she growled, pointing her guns up. "These are for Gangplank. Were made for him, are now made to kill him. I don't care how many tries it takes, how many drowned ships, and how many men lost at sea." She took a step forward. The man didn't move. "I _will_ get that shot. And I will make sure he takes the Dead Pool with him to the bottom. And I will make sure all of Bilgewater sees his fall." She put Shock and Awe back into the sheaths. "And _now_ , I'm just wasting time."

She turned towards the forest and left, not taking a single look back.

* * *

Charming her way into Gangplank's trusted acquaintances was not an easy task, but not the hardest she ever had to go through. A few whispers here, a few there, one word too many, one look too special, one night too intimate - and she was in.

Soon enough, whatever Gangplank had planned, she knew. Not instantly, which bothered her a lot, but it was the best she had for now. And eventually, she found herself on his ship. The downside to this plan was that she was alone. But then, she always really worked alone. She found out the ship's layout, pretending to be the "lost damsel in distress" whenever caught red handed, and managed to avoid the captain all the way until she was ready.

Perhaps she was foolish to think this could ever be this easy - and fortune doesn't favor fools. Perhaps that's why, as soon as she started preparing to blow it all to pieces, a reckless idiot on an excuse of a ship decided to attack Dead Pool. Perhaps that's why a "gentleman" just so happened to pass by her, and realizing the situation, grabbed her and took with him. Perhaps that's why, as soon as she killed him, another walked out on her. Perhaps that's why he just so happened to be a coward and ran away to alert others.

Perhaps that's why, as she was running towards the captain, one of the attackers fell into her. Perhaps that's why they happened to fly overboard, and during their mid-air battle, after she shot his brains out, she just so happened to hit something hard.

Perhaps that's why she found herself in the water again, with the small, arrogant captain drowning next to her, his ship quickly sunk. What a... misfortune.

She remained conscious for far longer this time, though. She felt her body going numb, refusing to listen to her commands. She saw the surface slowly moving out of her reach, her own hands in front of her, her red hair floating above her. Then, a swirl of water in front of her, and everything went black.

* * *

This time she wasn't nearly as cautious when the sounds of waves and animals woke her up. She sat up, legs crossed, and her eyes quickly found a blue pair.

The man crouched some distance from her, watching. She raised an eyebrow. "Is this even comfortable to you?"

"I can't feel comfort anymore," he simply answered, unmoving. She hummed, slightly nodding.

"So... You're like my little guardian angel now?"

The sparkle in her eyes must have been _too_ obvious. "I won't go 'round saving your ass anytime you need it," he murmured, standing up.

"So are there limits?" She stretched her legs in front of her, tilting her head. "How many times do I get? Or under which circumstan-" The harpoon landed right between her knees, but she only chuckled at the warning. "Ain't you a little fast, now?" 

"I say you're too slow," he grunted, and she could _swear_ he got it.

"Destiny is a funny thing," she shrugged, reaching for the harpoon. "It works in it's own way, or something. Doesn't it?"

Her hand flew right through the weapon as she tried to grab it - and before she could try again, it vibrated and then flew right back into the man's hands.

"Nice trick."

"No one said it was your destiny. No one said you'll succeed."

"So how many tries do I have left?" She stood up, patting the sand off of her.

The man watched for a long moment, but the answer never came.

* * *

The third time it happened, Sarah wasn't even trying to end Gangplank. Truth be told, she was trying to end herself.

She was never the weak type, never the one to give up easily. But things piled up in her life, and another one of her plans failed, and the pirate roamed free as he pleased. She kept telling herself it was a test - she wanted to know it the Drowned Ones only cared to save her if she was actively doing their bidding. The harsh truth creeped up her neck, but never quite reached her mind. She didn't allow it to.

She sat on the bridge, her legs over the edge, and watched the water. She's already made quite the name for herself. She should be proud. But a continuous failure in what was her initial goal really started to collect its toll. The water was dark, alive and hungry, swirling in circles beneath her.

It was just a test. She wasn't weak. She wasn't a coward.

So, she jumped.

The water was colder than she remembered, almost unwelcoming out of a sudden. It felt weird to fall down without any injury, without the pain, without the blurry vision fading to darkness. She looked up, silently watching the surface once again.

Her hand twitched by itself when her brain started demanding air. She thought back to the drowned ghost that saved her before, to Gangplank, to two pistols that started her doom. To her mother, to their workshop, to loading the guns, to shots, to screams, to the crimson in her hair.

Her lungs were burning.

She thought of her last tries, of getting a crew and a ship, of charming her way into the pirate's ship, of what went wrong. Of the young arrogant jerk who ruined her plans. Of her mother, again.

Her thoughts got blurry, messed up and chaotic, and then, for a moment, it all cleared out. A plan.

She had a plan.

She knew what to do.

Her eyes caught focus again, and she realized - it's too late. The surface is too far away.

But she was never the weak type. She was never the one to give up easily. Never a quitter.

So she moved, she swam, she fought against the suffocating water, hyper aware of every muscle, every move, of her lungs seconds from getting a forced gasp, of her brain minutes from dying. She went up, and against all odds, the surface _was_ getting closer, in a very fast pace.

Then she felt something outside of her body, the pull by her collar, and in the corner of her eye - a ghost in the water. She smirked, or at least she thought she did, before she did one last movement she had the strength to - and it was enough.

She pierced through the invisible barrier that was so often above her lately.

And burst into coughs, then almost went under the water again, her body focusing on getting air more than keeping her above the surface. For a single moment she thought she will actually go down and drown, but then the pull was there again, and when she turned her head, she saw a pair of _very unamused_ blue eyes and almost burst out laughing at that.

She must've looked like a kitten held by its neck by a very disappointed momma, but she didn't mind. A coughing, wet, snotty kitten. She needed a moment to collect herself. And as soon as she did, the support was gone, and she was alone in the open water. Miss Fortune frowned. She wanted to share her ideas, but there will be a time for it yet.

For now, she had other things to do.

The cogs finally fit together.


	2. Dead Man's Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Fortune is gathering information when the tavern's known storyteller turns out to know more than she could imagine. Having made a tough choice, she learns the story of the Terror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavily inspired by the official Bilgewater Audio Stories (the latter part is even word to word with that), since I wanted it to be that moment in this story :D Also Lars is a really good character to share more information, don't you think?

The tavern was crowded, as it usually is after one of more grand ships docks in Bilgewater. Rich merchants spent a lot of money on the harbour city's special treats, and brought many seeked treasures with them. Whether you were a rich man looking for a rest after a long journey, a merchant that just got lucky, or an on-board boy who stole or received a golden coin, whether you're a folk from the big world or a dock cleaner - on days like these, you ended up right here.

And so did Miss Fortune, to both relax finally, and eavesdrop interesting stories.

And no one had stories like Lars. Of course, some of them were repeatable, and most were unbelievable, but all were interesting. A few looks, a flutter of eyelashes, and she was sitting next to him, the best place to hear everything, and to see everyone.

"Hah, 'n that's how I met Nautilus," Lars finished up, taking a big swing of the beer, pleased to see the awe in children's eyes and the half-hidden shock in the adults'. Miss Fortune smiled a little, holding her mug by the top and circling it slowly in the air.

"And that's the Lucky Kraken?" Someone pointed at the golden coin hanging on the man's throat.

"Aye. Had a story with it all on it's own..." he started, getting the folk's attention again, "but, that's a story for an'ther day."

The crowd whined, but one by one they left, to other tables, to the bar, or out. Eventually, Miss Fortune was the only one who stayed, and it took Lars a moment to even notice that. He cocked an eyebrow at her, taking another sip.

She smiled, pushing one of her red locks behind her ear, leaning in a way she knew was bound to be effective. And effective it was, as the man's eyes quickly shot down and up again, and his lips formed a smile. The smile that turned into way too knowing for her taste. "What can ol' Lars do for ye, Miss Fortune?" He asked, refocusing on his beer again.

"I'd be honoured to be known by you, but... seems like you know everyone."

Lars chuckled, set the mug down and shrugged. "You been around the world as much as me, you gotta get to know a lot of folk."

"Tell me another story," she prompted, pushing her chest forward.

People may know who she is, but men will be men, and most of them can be manipulated easily. Lars was full of stories, but all in all, he was a simpleton. And she knew about it.

"Ye want to hear about Tahm Kench, that demon, maybe?" He asked after a moment. His tone hinted that he was more than eager to tell everything he knew.

"I know enough about the Riverking," she replied, twirling a lock around her finger. "Tell me something else. Something new."

"Ah, well," the man coughed, visibly caught off-guard. "There was, hm, there was Fizz... the trickster."

"You already told that story, come on, Lars... Give me something fresh."

He hummed in thought for a moment. She watched the people swarming the tavern, studied their faces, their behaviours. Observed. When the man beside her finally moved, she blinked to refocus on him.

"Well, I've got a few that I never told 'round here... Most of them because they shouldn't be told. But..." he sighed, "I'm an old man now. If I don't share 'em now, maybe they'll be lost forever."

She rolled her eyes internally, keeping the interest on her face. "That's a very wise thing to say."

"Hah, comin' from you, it almost feel like a sincere compliment," he winked. "But I'm afraid I only have time for one bef're we get kicked out."

"Will you let me choose?"

"Of course! What kind of entertainer would I be if I didn't let the folk choose their own story!" Miss Fortune smiled at that, allowing the man to continue. "Let's see, then... There's the story of Graves and Tobias... Illaoi and her God, that's a good one too! ..." Lars smiled, licking his lips. "There's also... the story of Leviathan."

Miss Fortune's brows unwillingly perked up. " _The_ Leviathan?"

Lars laughed. "Of course! The mighty Noxian warship, Swain's personal... until Gangplank took it over." He smirked, full of himself, seeing how he finally managed to get the bounty hunter's attention. "And one more interesting story," he added before he could dive into more details about the famous pirate, "of another ship. _Terror_."

Sarah straightened up.

Lars raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Could it be that Miss Fortune finds something more interesting than Gangplank himself?"

She cleared her throat, resuming the play. "I was just surprised you knew even about that," she smiled, her brain going at full speed. Choice. She had to make a choice. "Don't they say no such ship ever stopped at Bilgewater?"

Lars chuckled. "So, you'd rather hear this one, now?"

Miss Fortune froze, if only just for a second. Hesitantly, she parted her lips. "Yes."

The man hummed, nodding in thought for a moment. Sarah watched him. He took another big sip and put the mug down with a crushing sound.

“It’s true Terror never moored in Bilgewater,” Lars started, his tone now heavy and his eyes dark. “’twas at the time when jaull-fish was at the top of its popularity. Everyone wanted a flask of that treasure.” He leaned back, slumping slightly against the chair. “I was right after my… ehm, adventure, with Tahm Kench. No coin on me, except for me Lucky Kraken, and there ain’t no way I’m givin’ this treasure away. Walkin’ down the street, you see…

  
  


Cold, as it’s always been in Bilgewater at night. The ocean breeze was as merciless as the ocean itself. No place to eat, no place to sleep, Lars ventured the streets of the harbour city, hoping to get lucky for once. The River King’s offer still rang, loud and sound, in his head, and he found himself turning back every once in a while. But every time, he shook his head, reminded himself of how much it cost him, and went forward.

Must have been destiny’s dirty trick on him, just to give him fuel for even more tavern stories, because as he turned yet another corner he found himself eye to eye with a hooded figure. Their eyes met, and he raised his hands. “I ain’t seen nothing, I ain’t seen no one,” he said automatically, “jus’ walking.”

The person tilted their head and pushed a piece of paper into his chest. He puffed out a breath, not expecting so much force, and grabbed the paper. As he looked up from it, the shady character was already gone.

He shook his head, sighing. Life hasn’t been treating him peacefully lately, but at this point, he was willing to give anything a shot – anything but a deal with the demon. Not this again. He looked down at the paper again, this time focusing on the actual letters.

GATHERING A CREW.

JAULL-FISH HUNT.

REWARD: 100 GOLDEN KRAKENS

PLACE: GREY HARBOR, 0500

He felt shivers going up his back when he read the last line. Grey Harbor… has been inhabited ever since Hecarim and his army visited the place, laying waste to everything in their path. But then… 100 Golden Krakens would be more than enough to help him get back up. And he did have some experience with hunting Bilgewater’s damned monsters…

Next day, at 5am, Lars found himself standing on the edge of the cursed place, watching the group gathered around the person in the middle, talking. He took careful steps forward, trying to hear more details without making his decision final.

“Eavesdroppin’?” He suddenly heard from behind, and he jumped in place.

"Err, no, I'm... You see-" he started, looking up. A figure sat on a pile of wood, one of few reminders from this place's better days, slowly sharpening his harpoon. It looked like a fine piece of weapon, Lars had to admit, and he suddenly really didn't want the stranger to think badly of him. Luckily for him, the man just chuckled at his incompetence to come up with an excuse, and jumped down. A hand was reached out to him, and he noticed black tattoos around it.

"Pyke." The man simply said, dropping the previous topic.

"Lars," he quickly recollected himself, returning the gesture.

"Your first time on a jaull-fish hunt?" The other man asked, walking towards the group.

"Aye," Lars found himself following the stranger. He kept thinking about the name. It sounded... familiar. He must've heard it somewhere. Maybe he also gambled and lost everything?...

"Hold tight to your life rope, then," Pyke said, turning to him, "and don't let the size scare you." He smirked. "It don't bite with harpoons keepin' its mouth open." 

And soon, minutes after Lars wondered about turning back and getting an actual job (as if, in Bilgewater), he was already on the ship. Illegal ship, illegal departure, illegal fishing. But he didn't care that much - since he was already in, he preferred to look on the bright side. Money.

It was easy to see the crew was gathered from all around; Everyone worked together well, due to years of experience, but there was no rhythm to it, no fluency. He joined a group of harpooneers, standing on the side and looking into the water.

"Soooo," he said nonchalantly as he approached them. "Your first time?"

Part of the group eyed him flatly, one person walked away, but another one answered, so he counted it as a victory.

"No."

"So you ain't stressed?"

"No."

He tapped the wood, looking into the water as well. Dark substance whirled around their ship, seemingly ready to devour it at any moment.

"I wouldn't be anyway," another man suddenly said. "Pyke's there." He pointed with his head, and following his lead Lars found the man sitting on steps. Their eyes met. He blinked, and then raised his hand in a semi-wave. Pyke snorted, but returned the gesture. Lars suddenly felt very stupid.

He turned back to the group. "Name sounds familiar, but I can't place it," he admitted.

"He's earned himself a title of the best harpooneer in Bilgewater," the more talkative man replied. "Heard he started in the slaughter docks. Climbed up here all by himself."

"Can't say it's very high," the first man remarked.

Lars nodded, remembering where he's heard the name. At one of the tables, he gambled against a captain that got a nice fortune for a flask of saphillite. She talked about the hunt, but at that time Lars paid little attention to that. He had fortune all of his own, and he was ready to make more. He faintly remembers her mentioning the name. Pyke.

He looked back at the guy, but he wasn't there anymore. He furrowed his eyebrows. Relying your life on someone else just because they're good... didn't sound sane to him.

"It's here!!"

"Grab the ropes!"

"Get the harpoons!!"

"Get your ass OFF the floor, now!!!"

Lars jumped up, his snore cut off in the middle. People on the board were running around, grabbing lines and weapons, tying them around their bodies. He stood up, grabbed his own rope, and risked a look overboard.

The monstrous body was right beneath the ship, blue orbs glowing in the dark, muddy water. He swallowed. Golden Krakens. Remember about the Golden Krakens.

He checked the rope three times, then once more, just for the sake of the harpooneer's advice, grabbed the tool and waited.

Men lined up on the edge of the ship, ready to jump at the right moment. He felt the tension, saw some of them looking around nervously. He wondered how many of them will end up being just a monster meal. He wondered if he'll be one of them.

"NOW!" Came the order.

His mind registered it as definitely not the captain's voice, but men started jumping down, and he did the same. Halfway along the way to the water he realized who gave the order - and why everyone listened.

He fell into the water, blue orbs on the giant's body lightning the surrounding enough to operate. He swam around the beast's jaw, waiting for the right moment.

Then the fish finally opened its jaws, and two rows of huge, sharp teeth showed themselves to his eyes. He swung the harpoon forward, somehow hit properly, and held the line out, forcing the creature to keep its mouth open.

Tens of men around him did the same, and soon they all started extracting the precious saphillite.

The whole thing lasted little over a minute – a one breath action. And yet, it managed to go wrong.

The fish was much stronger than Lars anticipated. It never stopped wriggling, and eventually, its movements got more intense and sudden. It managed to throw a few people off of it, and then, gradually, set itself free. Lars swam back, away from the sharp teeth, closing with increasing speed. He looked around, noticed people started swimming up, and he quickly realized that the extraction is over. Now it’s time to move your ass and run, if you wanted to live to get the payment.

This was the moment that decided who’s the fish meal and who’s getting the reward.

He unlocked the harpoon and kicked himself off the fish to give himself more speed, and then swam to the surface as fast as physically possible, or even faster. He gasped for air as he finally reached the top, and pulled on his rope. He quickly felt the pull back, and started climbing up, back on the ship that already started moving. As he was halfway there, still in the air, but technically safe from the fish, he dared to look back.

His heart stopped.

The beast in the water swam down during that time, and was now swimming back up, straight at them. The blue glow suddenly didn’t promise money – it promised death, swift and certain. He wanted to cry out to the others, but his voice drowned in the captain’s.

"CUT THE ROPES!"

It was about the same moment that he managed to climb aboard, and he looked at the captain.

"WHAT?" Someone screamed.

"CUT THE ROPES!!" The captain yelled again, the command weak in their voice. Unexperienced, Lars suddenly realized. He ran to another man pulling someone up and started helping him. It was true; If they don’t get everyone up in time, the fish will jump at them and kill them all, destroy the ship, drown everything. But…

He saw the captain run towards one of the ropes. The last man, the one who’s the lowest. He looked over. He froze.

Pyke.

He was the last one, climbing the rope with one hand, keeping the full flask in another. Lars almost choked. How this man managed to extract the whole flask would forever be a mystery.

Lars looked to the captain again, getting the knife out. Let go of the rope he was helping with. Ran towards them. Heard himself screaming- "STOP!"

But he was too slow. The captain cut the rope. He reached out for it, but it was already falling, already fell, the ship was moving too fast. He stared, frozen, and watched the man fall down into the water, watched the fish jump out, watched the jaws closing once again. They all watched.  
  


"The Terror never truly appeared in Bilgewater, not officially. They left us in Grey Harbor, no reward, no comment. Some stayed on the ship. I heard days later that it sank, from one of the people who were with me. We decided not to talk about it." Lars’ eyes were focused on a point far beyond the tavern table. "After all, how could we know? That he’d… come back." He swore harshly. "I focused on me own life. Finally made it work, somehow. When the Ripper showed up, I think, we all knew who that was. But since only capt’ns were attacked, I didn’t think about it too hard. But lately the victims seem more random." He sighed, heavy and tired, a sigh of someone who’s been through too much for one life. "Guess your mistakes always catch up to you eventually."

Miss Fortune watched him. Most people left the tavern by this time, and the bartender was already cleaning up. The air became heavy, and quiet.

"Well," Lars finally said, refocusing on here and now, and looking at the bounty hunter. "Life’s life, ain’t it? We all gotta make it work somehow. And when folks hunt you from the grave," he shrugged, "ain’t much you can do ‘bout that."

The bartender sighed, putting a hand on her hip. "Right-o, Lars. That’s enough of you for one night. You’ll be bothering my other customers."

"Alright, alright, fine," he stood up, putting on an old, rugged coat, and winked to the barkeep. "How’s about one for the road, though, huh? Somethin’ for to get me movin’, like."

Her gaze was cold and tired. "Nuh-uh. Not until you settle up." She walked to the table. "I’ll not serve you tomorrow, either. Not until you pay your considerable tab!"

"Ahh, ‘s fair enough, " he shrugged. "A good night to ye, barkeep! I’ll see you anon."

"Insufferable," the woman scoffed as Lars waddled out of the tavern, singing old shanties under his nose. "But," she added after a moment, "less than always."

Miss Fortune watched the man’s silhouette drown in the Bilgewater’s air. "I may have hit the wrong string, there," she said before she got up. She tipped her hat at the barkeep and left.

The fog was thicker than usually. She walked the street confidently, quietly following Lars, from a safe distance. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt like she should. Like something is gonna happen.

And happen it did. She stopped when she heard it. Someone was… carving. She heard Lars. "Bit late for carvin’ your catch, ain’t it? It’ll wait ‘till morning!"

She leaned against the cold wall, meters from Lars. Judging by the fog’s direction and thickness, she could see him, and he couldn’t see her. She watched.

"Hello?"

A silhouette approached the carving man. One quick attack put the blade inside the body. Then, a powerful, steady pull as it carved it open. Lars froze in place. Miss Fortune almost whistled at the clean cut. Another quick movement, and the pulsating green harpoon was out. A pair of light blue eyes turned to Lars.

"Oh…" he started, his hands already trembling. He took a step back. "Oh, by the Lady’s Beard! I, ah… seen nothin’, friend." He took another step back, raising his hands. "’Tis no business o’ mine. I’ll just-" he pointed behind himself, an unsure smile on his mouth, "be on me way!"

"You…"

Lars froze again, and Miss Fortune had to admit, she felt the chill going through her body as well. The ghost turned his whole body towards Lars now, harpoon dipping with fresh blood. His eyes were actually glowing now, the right one leaving a trail of light as if it was cut open and letting it all out.

"You look familiar."

The stories all told how these words were basically a death sentence, but the shock in Lars’ eyes had a different source. "No… " he looked around, as if he expected Miss Fortune to walk out on him. As if she did it on purpose. As if talking about him called him. "It can’t be…" He swallowed, putting his hands more forward, as if he was trying to calm down a wild animal. He might have had more luck with that, though. "…Pyke?" He asked as if he didn’t believe it himself. "You’re dead," he drawled out, before he took another step back. And another. Miss Fortune wondered if he really believed he could run from it, or if he simply wanted to make his life longer, if only for a few seconds. "The beast took ye!"

A head tilt. "Yes…" A flash of realisation, of memory, of anger. "You were there. You cut my line."

Lars breathed heavily, but the distance between them was still nothing but safe. "It weren’t me!" He screamed. "Honest, I told them! Told them it weren’t right!"

Pyke started walking towards him. Harpoon was left on the ground, but somehow, with every step, it followed its owner, sliding across the floor. And as the steps got faster, Lars’ voice gained panic.

"Stay back-" he murmured, almost tripping on his own feet. "Stay back, I say!"

The walk turned into a run, and Lars covered his face with his arms – but right before the impact was made, the Ripper turned into a watery silhouette, and then, he was gone. From sight.

The haunting sound of the depth approaching was loud even in Miss Fortune’s ears. Lars looked around in panic. "What-" he turned from side to side, stepping into no direction at all. He took a wooden plank from the ground, posing himself into a defensive stance. "Where’d he-"

And just like that, from thin air, he was back, and the harpoon was pushed into the man’s stomach. He screamed, blood escaping his lips. "Mother of Serpents!" Then his face twisted into an angry frown, and he grabbed the harpoon. "I’ll give ye a good slash, you watery madman!" He swung the plank and, much to Miss Fortune’s surprise, sent the ghost flying. His body rolled on the board for a moment before he fell down, into the water. Lars raised the plank in victory. "Hah! … Ah, aha!" He laughed weakly. "Yes! That’s what you’ll get! Back down to th-"

A splash of water drowned out the rest of his sentence, and a harpoon flew right into his throat.

The sound of a man suffocating is nowhere near pleasant. His hands went up to grab it, to take it out, to do whatever, but his mouth flooded with blood and he barely stood on his legs. He tried to catch a breath, but it was visibly too painful.

"Another name off the list," sounded the haunting voice, seemingly from all around, before the harpoon pulled back, taking the body with it. Lars managed one last scream before he was taken underwater.

Miss Fortune waited. Then the sound was back. The deep, watery sound was back. It seemed to come from inside of her head. She stood still, quiet, denying her accelerated pulse.

A physical step on the ground finally sounded next to her, and she turned her head, a cheeky smirk on her lips. The man was soaked, and she wondered why this was the first time. Water dripped from his clothes, from the red stained harpoon, from the tips of his fingers. She looked back up.

"Havin' fun watching?" He asked, the voice still not quite back to what she had heard on the beach during their first meeting. The hair on her neck curled up, the cold shiver back again, but she crossed her arms and kept the smirk up.

"Enough to compensate for the information lost, lucky for you."

At this point she was used to being watched by him. What she was not used to, was the snort following the silent moment. "Lucky for me?" He asked, and she heard a challenge in his voice.

Miss Fortune was never one to leave the game first. "I've been known for takin' revenge on those who cut my informators..." she looked to the water, red stain slowly dissolving in the dark waves. "...apart."

"Oh, careful," he answered, straightening up ever so slightly. "I may get scared."

They both started walking, side by side, no destination whatsoever. The dark streets of Bilgewater, filled with thick fog and dangerous tales, were empty; Not many people dared walk out into the night these days. The ocean breeze was fresh and familiar for Sarah. She breathed in.

In the corner of her eye, she saw him looking. She thought back to the last time she saw him. Didn't want to speak about it. Figured she should.

"Thanks for the helping hand back then," she started, hoping it could be enough. She was greeted with silence. "I just-"

"Everyone sinks," he cut her off, "'till they don't no more."

She turned to him. "Didn't expect a pep talk from ye."

"It was a pep sentence at best," he barked back, "and you're not gettin' more."

She didn't push it further. She looked up. Yes, she was definitely done sinking. "I've got a plan."

"Another great failure?"

She was glad her elbow didn't go through the man when she pushed it into his ribs. A grunt of pain was a great satisfaction for her. "Nay. This time it must work. Had a revelation when I was goin' down."

"Tell me about it." 

"Yer revelation was not yer own. Doesn't count."

A shrug was still more than she expected. Everything tonight was more than she expected. "You in a good mood tonight?"

"Never."

She chuckled. For the first time in weeks it was genuine, not a part of a play, not a fake act to get her what she needed. "'s fair."

They walked in silence after that. Walked the empty streets, passed closed stores, flats, bays. Even the water seemed calmer than usual. They finally stopped, at the end of one of many bridges. She hummed, an introduction to her words, making sure she'd get his attention.

"Once this is over, and I get that bastard," she said, quietly, not disturbing the waves, "am I the next name on your list?"

He looked at her, silent for a long, long time. "I'll get to you, eventually. Everyone's name is on the list."

"Even yours?"

He didn't even blink. "Mine's in capitals. At the very end of it."

And with that, he faded into a watery shade before he was gone completely, nothing but a low echo of the haunting sound left in her ears.


	3. Wild Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't hope to tame the ocean.

It didn't take her long - would have taken even less time if she didn't have to dance around her plan in the meanwhile - to find the beach. The little isles around Bilgewater were numerous, but most of them were too tiny to grow anything close to a group of trees - let alone a small forest.

She wasn't sure what she expected, if she expected anything at all, but she slowly walked on the beach, watching the waves, taking the familiar sound in. Eventually, she settled, putting her hat down. Perhaps she came here to relax.

Sarah wasn't sure what was so relaxing about the place that only welcomed her when she was near death before, the place where she had met the man who promised her death, the place where she ended up after her failures. But relaxing it was, nonetheless, to watch the waves, sitting in the sand. Maybe she felt safe in here. Naive thoughts. There's no safe place in the Blue Flame Isles.

This time there was no warning; no sound, no feeling, no brush of air to give her a head start. Just a voice, low and deep, but more human than ever.

"Plan goin' smoothly?"

She instantly turned around, ignoring the goosebumps. He was there, a few feet from her, and for once he was actually sitting, not crouching, not stalking. His elbows rested on his knees, his legs bent, the harpoon in the sand between his feet. He almost looked... comfortable.

"Aye," she answered, not missing a beat. "It's slow, but... certain." She smirked. "I'm comin' for him."

She didn't know why, but the silence was disappointing. Blue eyes slowly moved from her face to the item resting next to her. "Nice hat." There was pure hatred in his tone, and she was fast to realise why.

"Ain't the first time I'm a captain," she said, her mouth dry. "Had a ship and a crew when we first met, didn't I?"

He didn't answer, just watched; judged. She frowned. Why did she even care at all? Why did _his_ opinion of all people matter to her? He was just a madman, a drowned ghost, not even a memory because there was no one to remember him. And yet...

She took the hat. "I don't feel like it fits me." It wasn't an excuse. It wasn't a lie. It was a confession. "Wanted to do it on me own. But it didn't work."

"Didn't work with the crew, either."

She scoffed. "'twas different back then. I barely knew 'em. These people would sell me for a peanut. Mutually. This time, I'm gathering people I can trust. People who trust me."

"Heartwarming."

She chuckled, half glad at the more relaxed tone, half agreeing. It did sound dramatic. But that's how it was. "Gangplank don't care shit 'bout his crew," she continued, "seen it myself when I was aboard. So I started thinkin'. This," she smirked, "could be his downfall."

"You gatherin' friends to let him know you've got more? Wanna send him off crying?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. Maybe quiet, hateful Pyke wasn't _so_ bad. "Wanna ruin him. And while I take his ship, and his life, I want him to see those around him just standing. Doin' nothing. I want his own life choices to bring him down."

The man narrowed his eyes. "...Doin' nothing." He repeated, but she felt like he wasn't listening anymore. He wasn't here, he wasn't now.

She waited, watched his eyes go from unfocused to bitter, until he looked up at her again. She put the hat on. "I'll take everythin' from him, and then some." She smiled, cocky. "And then we can settle the thing between us."

A comfortable silence fell between them. She turned to the waves again, her back to the man. It wasn't trust as much as knowing from experience - he couldn't hurt her. Not until she was finished with the pirate. She heard the sand shifting, and expected the man to disappear into thin air once again, but then the weight settled on the sand yet again, this time right next to her.

She cursed herself for the way her body reacted, the way her heart sped up, the way she leaned towards it, even if just slightly, even if just subconsciously. Oh for Bearded Lady's sake, Sarah, get a grip.

"You shouldn't come here," the low voice sounded, in her ears, in her head, all around. She tilted her head, cocky grin back on her lips.

"You lookin' out for me?"

Her question got ignored, and she figured she may never get an explanation. And yet. "My mind ain't all my own these days," Pyke's voice surrounded her again, and it seemed like he stopped himself from saying more. He didn't really need to - the danger was there, in the open air.

And Miss Fortune loved danger. "You think I can't handle you, honey?" Her grin widened. "I ate men like you for breakfast."

He looked at her, and then something extraordinary happened. He was still sitting next to her, watching, but at the same time, he was standing up. The sitting silhouette turned more and more watery, while the second one became more and more physical - and instead of just standing there, it was definitely charging at her.

Perhaps due to confusion, or the lack of readiness, or the way her heart still couldn't calm down, but she wasn't fast enough - she wasn't fast enough to dodge, nor to take the pistols out. Two very physical hands closed on her wrists, and she was pushed into the sand, her back hitting it roughly, her hands kept above her head. The watery shape that was still sitting next to her fazed back into Pyke, who was now above her, his face inches from hers. He smelled like the depth, like abyss that he was left to die in, like death. She refused to admit she liked it.

"Were these men also undead? Gifted by the Drowned Ones?" He _snarled_ , his right eye seemingly on fire. She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything she was pushed into the sand again, harder, the grip on her arms hurting even more. "NO!" He screamed, "They were NOT! Because if they were, you wouldn't be here now, _you'd_ be the breakfast!"

She tilted her head up, challenging. Moved her body. She knew how to move, how to look, how to speak. "Always knew you were into rough stuff," she purred. Pyke blinked, surprise clear in his eyes. He looked down, at her body, then looked up again, his grip loosening. She smiled. There it was. A distraction.

In two swift motions, she turned them around, piercing the man into the sand, pistol at his throat. "You sure _you_ can handle _me_ , sweetie?" She winked, moving the pistol away. Point made. She stood up, placing a hand on her hip. "Need help gettin' up?"

He stayed on the ground, his eyes focused on her. "You shouldn't do that," he finally breathed out, getting up.

"Aww, are we flustered?"

"There are times," he ignored her words, "that won't work."

She chuckled, swirling her pistol around before safely locking it into its sheath. "I've yet to see these times."

He watched her. She was used to it by now, his blue eyes wordlessly observing her. But there was something new she started noticing. Hunger. Sarah smirked, seating herself down on the beach again, confidently patting the space next to her. He looked at her hand, then turned his head to the waves. Her smirk widened, but she didn't say anything. The comfortable silence was back once again, and she enjoyed it while it lasted.

* * *

The place became her little escape. She came there to rest, to relax, often to drink away the day's trouble. Sometimes Pyke joined her, sometimes he didn't appear at all; But she could feel his eyes on her. From the water, from the sand, from the forest; Maybe she was getting paranoid, maybe he didn't watch her all the time, maybe he was busy murdering half of Bilgewater while she sang shanties to herself, throwing empty rum bottles into the waves.

But one day she came, a bottle safely settled under her arm, and he was already on the shore, watching the waves silently, his harpoon dripping with blood. She couldn't see the body - but that was the only normal thing in that scenery.

"Pulled out 'nother drowning soul?" She yelled from afar. She enjoyed the place even without company, but she was always secretly looking forward to sitting with the ghost, cutting the silence from time to time with sassy remarks and jokes more than dirty. "Gave the poor sucker some hope before..." She stopped. Put the bottle down. Something was wrong.

When he finally turned to her, his eyes were on fire, the teeth on bandanna seemingly glowing as well; He didn't say a word, just dashed forward, towards her, then disappeared.

She took the pistols out, not wasting time trying to talk. She's seen bloodlust before, she remembered his own words from the first time she came here on her own; There was no point opening her mouth now.

The sound of blade cutting through the air.

She jumped to the side, harpoon barely reaching her hair; A few red strands fell on the sand. There was no time to think about it - another slash was already on its way. Miss Fortune dodged that as well, and countered with a quick bullet.

It went right through the water, and then there was nothing again. She pointed the pistols up, holding her breath, listening.

There it was.

She turned around, this time even faster, and shot a volley. This time it hit, she heard the reaction, but didn't see the damage done.

Having a bit of a dèjà vu, she backed off towards the forest, her muscles ready to act at any second.

She saw him appear in the corner of her eye, but when she turned he was dashing towards her way too fast to react. She gasped, but the impact didn't happen; he went right through her. Leaving the watery shade behind. She turned around, remembering that the clone fuses back into him - and then it did.

She was between them. It went straight through her.

It didn't hurt per se, she didn't feel any pain, any damage, any strain. But the experience itself, the speed, the water fusing through her- She couldn't breathe. It was similar to when she went through him, but at the same time so much different, so much _stronger_. Her lungs were burning, as if she was put underwater, her vision went black for a moment.... And the next thing she felt was a sharp blade at her thigh.

The pain was piercing, overwhelming, stronger than she expected. It wasn't the first time she was hurt, wasn't even the first time she was cut, but her leg instantly gave up under her, she landed on one knee, and then the stun from before finally let go, and she could think clearly again.

Clearly. She was clearly fucked.

Relying more on her instincts than anything, she rolled to the side. Bloody harpoon landed where her heart was a second ago. She stood up, relying on her good leg for better stability. Playing was over. Now they were serious.

He dashed towards her, anger and hatred and betrayal clear in his eyes. She leaped to the side, shot a few bullets, then dodged again. He seemed to heal up whatever damage she caused while he was in this invisible, watery state, and she quickly realized she had to deal enough damage to bring him down all at _once_.

His frantic state was her upper hand at the moment, his movement predictable; Violent, ruthless, thoughtless. She shot a branch above them, forcing the distance between them. And, as the drowned ghost jumped over it, she pointed both pistols at him and took a breath.

He wasn't the only one wielding some kind of power. She found out when she was young, spent long evenings wondering if her mother could do that do. She eventually decided that wasn't possible; She wouldn't have lost to Gangplank if she could. She never learnt the source of that power, but she knew its reason - she had it to bring the fucker down. And she needed to stay alive for that.

She knew this ought to be deadly, but she didn't hesitate. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she always knew; Always knew one of them would bring an end to the other.

Her pistols fired, kept firing, and it didn't stop; The bullets were never ending, shooting in several waves in a cone too wide to dodge. Physically impossible, but Miss Fortune didn't care.

Pyke didn't flinch for a second. He jumped over the branch, and kept pushing forward, bullets hitting him and tearing the clothes and skin apart; There was no way he could live through it, unless he dashed away right now.

But he didn't. He kept going, step by step, and perhaps Miss Fortune would have ended him right there and then, but when a dark, tattooed, ripped open arm reached for her through the waves of bullets, she instinctively moved away, stopping the fire, smoke erupting from her pistols.

She breathed heavily, going back step by step, the sight before her making her more than nauseous. The clothes, the skin, the bones; It was all pierced, holed, skin hanging from the body. And then, nothing. He disappeared again. She recovered from the shock, reloaded her pistols; Cursed loudly. He was barely standing as it was, she could have continued the attack, she could have shot him while he was still standing there - she could have killed him. She had the chance and didn't take it.

Mistakes like these follow you in Bilgewater, follow you until they entwine around your neck, and then snap it.

And surely, the deep sound was back again, right behind her, and as she turned around the man tackled her down to the ground. She lost her breath again, hitting the sand with her back. He wasn't completely recovered yet, but much, much better. Clothes still hung on him, shot and pierced, but his skin was bearing only scars where it was completely gone a minute ago.

She coughed, and then a harpoon was at her throat.

"A bit of a déjà vu, ain't it?" She breathed out. He was too heavy, she was too exhausted; Her body refused to move like she was willing it to. The pistols were on the ground on her sides, dropped at the moment of the impact.

The blade was wet with blood.

"You," he finally spoke, and oh Great Serpents, how she wished he didn't. It wasn't a voice of a human - not a voice of a ghost, either. It was an abyss, a deep, deep emptiness, a dark, escapeless void speaking. It was deep, it was loud, it was everywhere around. It was filled with pure wrath, with indescribable anger, and Miss Fortune felt all her hair stand up at once. A shiver went down her spine. She trembled. "You let me drown."

She didn't even have it in her to deny it. She watched the blade go up, the Bloodharbor Ripper taking a swing-

He stopped. His head twitched, then he turned it towards the waves. She looked to the side. One pistol was close enough to reach for it, if he stayed distracted for long enough... He turned back to her, his face somehow even more angry now. He growled, then screamed as he swung the harpoon down.

Into the sand. Next to her face.

He stood up, not wasting another look at her, and faded into nothingness, along with the blade.

Miss Fortune stayed on the sand for many long minutes, the shock and fear slowly draining out from her. When her breath calmed down, she reached for the pistols, stood up, shakily put them in their sheaths. Looked around.

The beach was silent. Waves hit the shore, taking back whatever they could on their way back before others attacked. The sand and the trees were still. Not a single leaf moved. The animals left, or hid themselves.

She was being watched.

She looked at the water, swallowed, then turned back and limped to the city, straight to the tavern.


	4. Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time the shadow from her nightmares does not herald trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one, but the next one will be a bit longer, I promise :") Also we're heading towards Big Event very fast...

The evenings got harder ever since she couldn't rest in her secret little heaven. She walked the streets, got into fights, got into hazard. She took more commissions, polishing her title as the greatest bounty hunter Bilgewater had to offer; But when the night came, when she lied in the dark of her cabin, she couldn't rest.

She always had red nightmares. Red blood, spilling on the floor, into her hair. Red accents on the cursed pair of pistols. Red face mask.

But it had always belonged to that scum. The pirate that took everything from her.

And lately, it's a different face mask - a red bandanna, with a set of white teeth painted on it.

She wasn't afraid of him. She was afraid of herself, around him. It was the first time ever Miss Fortune had a chance to kill her attacker... and didn't pull the trigger. She backed off. She didn't hesitate when she started sending waves of bullets into his direction, but when he stood there, vulnerable, almost defeated - she just watched.

And now, in the nightmares, she saw it again. She saw his broken body, she saw her pistols. She didn't do anything. And next thing she sees, he leaps into the air, falls down onto her, the harpoon landing straight in her heart. A perfect execution.

She woke up, sat up, breathing heavily. Looked around. Touched her chest. Just a dream. It was just a dream. She breathed out, relaxing a little. Just a dream.

The outside was silent - it was probably the middle of the night. Ain't the first time she wakes up at this hour.

She stood up, stretched her back and arms, yawned. Walked to the table, limping still on the leg that survived the hook, gulped down the whole glass of water. Considered pouring something stronger, but then decided against it. She may actually try to get some more sleep. Her crew slowly started noticing her exhaustion, she started noticing it herself - and slower reflexes can mean instant death.

But she didn't move. She stood there, watching the glass. Silence was deafening. Usually she could at least hear some homeless mongrels feasting on the leftovers, fighting with crows over the better parts. She looked up, at the wall, listening.

Nothing.

She sighed, setting the glass down. She was getting paranoid. She yawned again, setting herself back in the bed, covering one leg with the bed sheets.

"Nightmares?"

She opened her eyes, somehow stopping her body from bolting up. She turned her head, and indeed, there he was - the reason for the unnatural silence, standing in the corner, in the shadow, leaning against the wall. He almost looked... cocky. But there was a certain doubt in it; the lack of real confidence. Or practice. If she was rested enough, she would've probably found it entertaining.

"Amazing perception," she muttered instead, sitting up. "Why are you here?"

Couldn't be her time yet. Gangplank was still out there, very much alive. But silence answered her and she wasn't sure if she should count it as progress, or regress. It definitely wasn't the comfortable type, so she's decided to break it.

"How long have you been watching me sleep?" She asked, unamused.

Met with no answer yet again.

Then, the shadow in the room moved. Only took a few steps, but she would he lying if she said seeing him better didn't make her feel better. Safer, maybe. Naive again.

She sighed.

As time went by, the silence settled more confidently, and it was slowly becoming comfortable again. It was as if there was an unspoken argument happening in the air between them, and it was reaching its conclusion. She hated how calm his presence made her feel. How she felt all the stress and exhaustion from past days wear off. It shouldn't be like that. Perhaps she was just as crazy as the man before her.

"Do you have them?" She finally asked, losing all and any hope of getting an answer to her previous questions.

He tilted his head. "I don't." He said, quietly. Calmer than she's ever heard him. "I don't sleep." He added after a moment.

"You're one of them meditating folk?"

"No." He hesitated. "I'm one of them observing folk."

"You mean, murdering the city at night folk." She's allowed herself a smile.

He took a breath, but didn't argue. Just nodded. "Well... Yeah."

She watched him for a longer moment. "You're watchin' over me again?" she smirked, a knowing sparkle in her eyes.

He sighed, looking at the roof, suddenly looking exhausted himself. But also kind of relieved, maybe. Or maybe she was just telling herself that. Maybe it was just late.

"Apology accepted," she finally said, and though she saw his face expressing very clearly that she's giving it too much meaning, she also saw the body language; And Pyke definitely relaxed after that. She smiled.

She had no idea what she was getting into, but she liked it.

"I think it's going smoothly," she started unprompted, "the crew is almost all gathered. We have a few new people 'round, and when they're checked out..." She made the pause for the effect. "...he goes down " 

She was greeted with silence once again, and acting on pure impulse she stood up. "How 'bout we celebrate now?" She turned to the man over her shoulder, and winked. "Since we probably won't get the chance once it's all done."

He watched her hands as she reached for the bottle. "Shouldn't you rest?" 

"Oh, look at you, all caring n' worried." She laughed at his scowl. "I can handle myself, don't worry."

She sat down with two mugs, reaching one out to the man. He walked to the bed, slowly, and took it from her, but didn't sit down. She leaned back until she rested her back on the wall, allowing herself to look up. She quietly wondered if Pyke could even drink.

But he just put the bandanna down around his neck and took a swing. She blinked. Anticlimatic. "Oh, so you _do_ have a face," she said, "cheers to that."

He rolled his eyes. With the whole face visible, he suddenly looked more... human. Alive. He eventually placed himself down next to Sarah, mirroring her pose; stretched out on the bed, his head against the wall, slovenly and comfortably. Like a sailor.

"We could put it to good use," she teased, licking the edge of the glass.

He raised an eyebrow and _smirked_. "I can see you havin' some creative ideas."

She lost her trail of thoughts and whatever smart reply she had was gone. She took a sip. "Do you have any to share?"

He watched her for a beat too long before he turned his attention to his glass. "No. None I'd want to share."

She whistled. "Ooh, rough. And they say I'm the pervy one." She chuckled, emptying her glass.

The night went by very fast for Sarah; They sat down and drank, and told each other of sea adventures, myths and legends they knew, cutting in a few dirty jokes here, more cheeky remarks there, the talk slowly dissolving into slurred shanties. And when the bottle was empty, they sneaked out and took more from the docks, killing all of one witness that saw them.

When the sun's first rays hit the cabin, Sarah was sprawled out on her bed, bottles empty around her bed. And she probably would have deemed the night her dream, were it not for an additional glass, standing empty on the night table next to her bed.


	5. Dark Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She didn't need saving. He was still around to offer.

Next time they met, it was Miss Fortune who was in a dark place.

A trail of blood and death followed her, and Bilgewater started whispering about the new captain, the legendary bounty hunter, whose cruelty and flair was comparable to Gangplank's. She heard the whispers, hated every single one of them, but decided she was above it. She knew what had to be done in order to bring the man down, and she would take the necessary actions. After all, it takes evil to defeat evil.

Her crew was complete, a trusted group of well-trained, smart people, who she knew would jump into fire for her. Who she was more and more willing to send into it.

She chewed on the cheroot as she walked through the docks, people getting out of her way; And rightly so. She's earned that respect, through blood and sweat, most of it not her own.

She sat down by the water, setting sun warm on her skin. She still had some time before her client comes around - a new package straight from Piltover. Nothing she would need for herself, mind you, Shock and Awe were more than enough - but she knew a guy who knew a guy... She was here to receive the weapon, for now.

She took one of her pistols out, and started cleaning it. The action struck a familiar, bitter string in the melody of her memories - it reminded her of how she'd clean pistols for her mother, how she'd maintain them... She shook her head. Now was not the time to get nostalgic.

She noticed it quite fast.

People walking through the docks were all... repeating. Same bald guy walked past her three times already. Same man in a long coat watched her from afar, appearing around out of nowhere from time to time. 

She kept working on her gun.

The circle of strangers grew closer and closer, until the bald man stopped next to her, around six more men nearby.

She didn't spare him a look. "How do you like my pistol?" She asked instead.

An impatient grunt betrayed his hot temper. She heard him reaching for a gun of his own, heard the beginning of a "bitch".

Before he could finish the sentence, in one swift motion, she pointed the gun right at his face, and pulled the trigger, impact sending the bastard back.

His support group stared in shock as their leader's body landed in water. Then they all recovered, one by one, and reached for their weapons. Miss Fortune sighed.

  
  


A short, nervous man walked through the streets, watching the dangerous lot around him with one hand on his advanced armour's trigger. When he finally reached the agreed rendezvous point, he nearly choked. Seven bodies, most of them with faces shot off, decorated the docks, and among them sat his contract, polishing her gun. People walked by, no one seemed to notice the corpses.

He swallowed, then awkwardly stepped over one of the bodies, trying to ignore the smell of blood and death and powder in the air.

The woman raised her head as he stopped in front of her. He was told she was a beauty, but he couldn't focus on that right now - drips of fresh blood were still on her cheeks as she looked up at him, her eyes cold. He cleared his throat.

"Miss... Fortune?"

She hummed. "Misfortune indeed."

He blinked.

"Yer the Piltover folk, right?" She asked, dropping the topic. He nodded. She pointed at the crate next to her. "Here's the gold."

He walked to the crate, unsteady, clumsy steps, and opened it up. Filled with golden krakens, good material for their new project. Bilgewater needn't know they didn't care about their money's technical value. He poured some between his finger, checked deeper; Everything was in tact.

Nodding, he gave his own package to the bounty hunter. She took it from him, gave a half-hearted smile, and left. He felt relieved for exactly three seconds before he realized his situation. Alone on the docks, with a crate filled to the brink with golden krakens - surrounded by Bilgewater folk. He looked after her, planning to maybe ask for help, but she was already gone. He whined quietly to himself.

  
  


After the deal was struck, she sat down in the more emptied side of Bilgewater, chewing on another cheroot, an unopened bottle in her hand. Over time, she liked taverns less and less. She didn't need information anymore, and crowded places exhausted her lately. She enjoyed her own company, watching the unsteady waves, polishing her plan.

Silence was the first warning, as always. She watched the waves ruffle, the fish disappear, the harbour city sounds slowly draining away. She sighed.

"Been a while," she said, not hiding her lack of excitement. Receiving no answer felt like a blessing at the moment, and she's decided that if she ignores him for long enough, he may just leave her in peace.

But as the silence stretched out, the feeling of being watched raised her anger.

She finally turned, meeting his eyes. They stared at each other, a silent battle. Hers were full of anger and rejection, his of betrayal and hatred. What a great combination.

"Two months." He finally said. "Where is your success, Sarah Fortune?"

"In your ass," she barked back, turning back towards the ocean. The waves crashed on the wooden bridge.

"Did you focus on punishing the wrong people too much, _captain_?" He sneered in reply.

She stood up, facing him yet again. "You've got no right to judge me, drowned man." She walked up to him, their faces inches apart. He didn't move back, but she didn't care. "How many innocents have _you_ killed?"

He narrowed his eyes. "None."

"Oh right, of course, they were all guilty," she laughed at him, in an ugly, forced way. "The whole world came to watch one harpooner drown! The whole world was somehow on that ship, during an illegal, secret fishing trip!" She placed a hand on one of her guns, keeping it in its sheath for now. "Don't give me that look. Lars was on board, it's a miracle that story didn't reach Shurima yet. Just because someone knows of a ship doesn't mean they were aboard." She leaned back, ignoring his warning growl. "Face it, ye don't even know whose revenge you're gettin'."

"I don't care."

She stopped for a second, taken by surprise by the answer. "...Then what's your fucking problem with _me_? A trail of blood ain't nothing weird in this city."

"So have you killed someone for deeming you not worthy of their wares yet?"

The shock, the _pain_ was sudden to her, and it gave the man an extra second before she took the pistols out and, without even blinking, shot a few bullets right at him. They went through, and Miss Fortune screamed, the frustration building up more and more. She took a swing with her arm, and as the man raised his hand, she just hit his head with her elbow. Shooting bullets ain't the only way she could deal with her problems.

Her elbow met with bone. She heard a crack.

Pyke staggered, but didn't lose his balance. She raised a pistol and managed one shot before his head jerked up, the blue eyes disappearing from her vision as he faded through her, and she wondered whether she hit him or not for a split second before she was being dragged underwater, the overwhelming feeling of the watery ghost chasing its owner going through her body yet again.

She would probably throw up, but then the water surface his her back with a very awakening effect. She turned in the water, trying to swim up, back to the air, but she seemed to be stuck in place. She frowned, focusing on her surroundings instead, holding the pistol still. If anything, she could manage a nice hit with it.

Any weapon would be useful in her situation. Big, hungry fish swarmed around her, circling the sudden food that arrived from the heavens. She saw huge sets of jaws, quite some distance from her, and braced herself for the unfair fight, but the fish didn't come close. None of them did, now that she noticed it.

There was a stronger shark around.

Nothing caught her, but she still felt the pull before the water twirled around her, covering the view, seemingly flowing all around her and all inside her. It must've lasted only seconds - her lungs didn't even ask for air - but it felt so much longer, confusing and overwhelming and _devouring_.

Then she saw dots - eyes? - blue and glowing and all around her. Millions and millions of silent watchers, like a whole city, like...

Then they all started going out, one by one, until only a pair remained, and suddenly a fresh air hit her, and she realised she needed air more than she imagined. She bent over the sand and hungrily took in the breaths, for a split second forgetting the world around her.

Then the situation hit her, and she stood up, drawing her weapons. Wet as they were, it was still better than nothing. The ghost stood frozen before her.

"Why here?" She spat, pointing the barrels at him. "What's with this place?"

He looked around the beach, indifference mixing with various emotions in his eyes. "I don't know."

She blinked, then grit her teeth again. "And let me guess. You don't care."

"Not really."

"Then why do you care so much about _me_?!" She screamed, taking a step forward. "Why did you decide to be a pain in _my_ ass?"

"The world is full of captains," he said, slowly, as if he was finding out the reason himself, "it don't need more."

Miss Fortune frowned. "Very poetic." There was no joy in her tone.

"Last time I checked," Pyke continued, leaning the harpoon on his shoulder, "you swore to kill Gangplank for what he's done. Decided he's a scrum unworthy of livin'." He looked at her, long and intense. "What good does it do if you just take his place afterwards?"

She stared at him, processing his words. She could try all the lies in the world, but she wouldn't deny the truth in them. "He's not just any pirate," she finally said, her tone loud and far from crumbling, "it takes sacrifices to get to 'im."

"I became a monster to hunt monsters," he said, his intense gaze not leaving her eyes. "You don't have to."

"You don't know what I have to do," she barked back, "what I had to."

He tilted his head. Silence followed. His eyes, judging and piercing and maybe filled with disappointment, stayed at her for a longer moment before the man faded into mist, leaving Miss Fortune alone on the beach.

Something changed after that night.

She didn't get soft. The list of people who died at her hands or by her orders was ever so increasing. She kept polishing her name as the greatest bounty hunter. She was just trying to get back - to wipe the Merciless label off her shoulders.

"Welcome back, Captain," one of her crew said one day as they journeyed lazily through the waters, drinking rum and singing shanties. The rest just nodded, more and less energetic, and not a word more was said. Not a word more was needed.

She spent many nights looking out to the ocean. Pyke never came. She didn't expect him to. She didn't want him to, she told herself. The waves crashed against the bridge, fish lurking in the water. She just watched.


	6. Give No Quarter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The grand finale.

The impact muted every single sound, a static hum loud in her ears. Splintered wood flew around, piercing her skin, scattering over the floor. Someone screamed next to her.

She stood up, shakily catching her balance, standing over the man, sprawled on the floor in front of her. She raised her arm. Shock was the first shot. Now it was Awe.

She waited until the high sound in her ears stopped, until the surrounding gained sound again. World around her kept spinning, in its regular motion, but she was somehow out of it. Both of them were. The fighting, the swearing, the screaming; the blood and the sweat and the salt water. Everything was happening, but somehow, being in the center of it all, they weren't involved anymore.

As her ears and mind came back fully, he grunted. Tried to get up.

One more shot echoed on the Dead Pool.

It drowned in the others.

It drowned in the fighting, in all other deaths. There was nothing special in this one.

She watched the crimson blood pool around the man's limp body.

Someone from her crew grabbed her arm and pulled her away, saving her life from a sword. The attacker stopped as he saw his captain lying dead at the woman's feet. He looked up, astonished, Shock and Awe, then screamed, rushing for revenge.

Miss Fortune's body reacted on muscle memory; she shot without aiming, the man fell dead on Gangplank's body.

There was nothing special in death.

Her crew moved back to her ship, the explosives set up.

The explosion was sudden, sharp, cruel. Fire ate everything in its path, and long after the ship itself was gone, it still licked the remaining planks and ropes that somehow stayed over the water.

She looked at her destiny unfolding in front of her, at her life's goal succeeding, at the captain and his ship going down, him dead, his crew dead. And she thought to herself: this isn't special.

Nonetheless, the world froze for a minute. Everything was quiet and motionless, everything except the ship going down, the rest of the crew screaming and leaping into the water.

It felt like someone put a thin, invisible coat over the world, stopping it from reacting, from moving, from breathing.

And then it crumbled.

People around her screamed in glee, hitting each other on the shoulders, laughing and bending over themselves; many ran to her, eventually picking her up and throwing up in a cheer.

They turned her around, and suddenly she saw.

The entire docks of Bilgewater, filled with people, with sailors, with merchants, guards, families, pirates, tourists. Everyone stared, and as the cheer broke on the ship, everyone reacted in their own way.

On the shore of Bilgewater on thay day, every single emotion could be seen.

Some jumped in joy, hugging strangers close to them, some just stared in shock, some screamed to the air as if they shared the victory, too; Some shook their heads in disbelief, some sent her wrathful looks, as if announcing she's earned a place on their own kill list; Some watched her in fear, their eyes wide, their jaws open, their fingers fiddling in front of them nervously. Some already moved away, to report the news, to change their plans, to act on the new situation. A few pair of eyes silently found each others, a few quick nods were exchanged. Children stared at her like a new legend.

She raised her arm.

It _was_ special, not because someone died, but because _he_ died, and because _everyone_ saw that, and because _she_ and _her crew_ were the ones to do it. To accomplish the impossible.

Her own shouts of joy and victory were drowned out, tens of voices joining together in one, merged roar of victory.

* * *

The spoon lied perfectly angled on the tea plate, the cup filled with the dark liquid. Piles of papers lied neatly organised next to it, each section marked in a differently coloured stick-on note.

The sheriff took a sip, reading the newspaper.

"Gangplank is dead," she read out loud, her eyebrows raising as the information fully settled in her mind.

On a table next to her, another woman showed her surprise more audibly. "For real?"

"Apparently so."

"Why's that even important?" Asked another voice, belonging to a blonde boy sitting next to the other woman, rubbing his arm.

"'Cause whoever did that knows how to throw a punch!"

" _No_ , that isn't the reason it is important to _Piltover_ ," the sheriff corrected her coworker, scoffing ever so slightly. "Bilgewater is an important part of Runeterra's trade route. The one, may I remind you, directly connected to ours."

"But Gangplank wasn't like, the president of Bilgewater, right?" The blonde frowned. "Not like their trade's gonna change."

The sheriff sighed, weaving her fingers and leaning her face on her hands. She hummed in thought, looked out the window. Didn't answer the question.  
  


"Sir," the man bowed down.

"Yes?" Another man, sitting in front of tons of papers, looked up, his eyes tired, his face looking much older than he really was. He finished writing something down before he focused fully on his advisor.

"News from Bilgewater." The informant straightened up, reaching out with a file, placing it carefully on the desk. "Gangplank is dead."

The king took the file, frowning. Studied the contents, his eyes darting from side to side as he quickly read everything. "Candidates?"

"Bragg. Harker. Crow. We think these three will gain most power and rule over the city."

"What about the killer?"

"Sarah Fortune. Bounty hunter."

"What about her?" The king put the papers down, put a fist under his chin. "Won't she fight for power?"

The man hesitated. "We are... not certain. From what we gathered, the murder was an act of vengeance rather than the will for power."

"I see."

"Your orders, Sir?"

"Keep me informed. Watch the city." He leaned back, elbows on the armrests, his fingertips touching their mirror counterparts. He let himself sink in his thoughts, not noticing the informer bowing yet again and leaving quietly.

  
  


" _Damned be!,_ the general slammed his fist on the table. The wood whined and bent, but didn't break.

The magician watched from the corner, silent for now.

"When? How? _Who?_ "

"Almost two hours ago, Great General. Blown up on his ship, with the entire crew. A bounty hunter from Bilgewater."

"Name?"

"Sarah Fortune."

The man sat down again, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dismissed."

The soldier nodded, leaving immediately.

The magician smiled.

"This city brings more and more of my hatred upon itself," the man said finally, looking up, searching for her shape in the darkness.

She stepped out of the shadows, seating herself down comfortably on the chair in front of him. "It's not as bad of a situation as it seems," she purred. "I've placed one of our men there. He's grown quite important over time. Now's his chance to take over the entire city."

The general narrowed his eyebrows, thinking. "For Noxus to rule over such a critical location," he said, more quietly now, "would be the right state of things." He smiled, ugly and crooky and far from positive.

The magician smiled back, sharp and fake and far from gentle.

* * *

Bilgewater was dirty, fake and traitorous, but even the biggest scumbags in town had a sense of honour in such situations. That's why Miss Fortune's crew could drink and drink and drink for three days straight, without getting worried about someone backstabbing them.

The city was more alive during that time, seemingly vibrating. The tavern opened special bargains - Walk The Plank, fantastically named new drink for half the price while the grief is still fresh. Trades stopped during that time, too, the merchants instinctively knowing it's better to join the fun rather than try and find a crew willing to sail now.

Miss Fortune enjoyed it as much as she could, knowing that it's a matter of days before the happy mess turns into a political war. She knew she'll have quite a group jumping to her throat, each bastard more willing to take over the now leaderless Bilgewater. Because really, Gangplank was the real boss around.

But there was a pull at the back of her mind, always there, whether she was swallowing shots one by one, or taking part in tavern fights, or blurting out stories to fascinated and equally drunk folk, or lying down in her cabin on these sparse occasions when she actually reached it - a single doubt that kept eating at her, causing her to tense up near the bridges, to hold her breath as she walked through the fog, to not look into the water for too long.

She knew he'd come, eventually. The question was, what for. She tried to reason with herself that really, now there was just one possible reason, and that she should get ready for fighting an opponent far more dangerous than the power-hungry scurve of Bilgewater. But a small part of her, somewhere deep in her mind, kept telling her that there's a chance of a different outcome.

Perhaps her naive hope was the reason she found herself on the familiar beach one night, surrounded by bottles, already quite drunk when she got there. Or maybe she just didn't manage to sober up from the earlier party yet.

She sat on the sand, taking swings and watching the waves. Feeling bold, she actually tried to call for him. Over and over again.

As it didn't work, she scrambled up from the sand, bottle still in her hand, and walked into the water, cold liquid giving her goosebumps as she walked deeper and deeper in.

She stopped when the water was at her waist.

"PYYYKE!" She screamed to the ocean, momentarily losing balance. "COME ON OUT, YOU DAMNED BASTARD! I DID IT!" 

She wasn't sure if she was asking him to celebrate with her or reminding him of their old agreement - she really didn't care how he'd interpret it, she just wanted him to be here. She wanted to share it with him. She raised the bottle to the sky. "AT LEAST GIVE ME ONE DRINK BEFORE IT ALL GOES TO HELL!"

But a silence was the only reply she got, like many times, and she swore at the waters. " _FINE!_ " She yelled, her throat tight. "AT LEAST TAKE THIS!" She added as she threw the half-full bottle into the ocean. The swing was too much for her balance and she ended up falling into the water.

Her walk back to the beach was the one of shame, the cold bath making her thoughts clearer for a moment before the alcohol took over them again. She mumbled under her breath, about the fucking ghost, about the wasted bottle, about the stupid politics and damned city in general.

She plopped down on her ass again as she reached the dry sand, her clothes heavy and cold. But still, this place was where she wanted to be right now, not on her ship, not in the harbour, not anywhere else. She opened another bottle, but didn't drink anything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I followed the old lore, or rather what I remembered of it, for Swain; I think Le Blanc is working against him now in the new lore? Let's just all agree she's trying to gain his trust and learn more before she actually attacks :)
> 
> Either way, here it is! The grand finale! The success! The well-deserved victory! But is it, really...? It's not over yet after all :>


	7. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One nice surprise, and one awful one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, a big THANK YOU to everyone who commented on the last chapter (and all chapters, really!)  
> All these nice words made me kick myself in the arse and actually work on this fic a little more :^) I have the next part already written down, but I needed a transition of sorts between the two + the reunion finally happening.  
> I'll try to update more frequently but can't promise much, as now I have both work and university to take my time away >:/  
> Anyway, thank you all once again, and hope you enjoy this one!

Eventually, things calmed down. The trade resumed, and the thin veil of unspoken immunity her crew had had vanished. Unsurprisingly enough, soon she's learnt there's a group of influential people who started meeting in secret. She suspected she'd get invited eventually - when all of them planned out who's taking what, just to inform her that all she gets is a pat on the back tor taking the big fish down.

She looked in the mirror, lifted her hat with Shock. The eyes looking back at her were tired and mature. As if she'd let them.

There was no sound at all. No sign. But still, under her skin, she suddenly felt his presence. She didn't turn around.

"It's been a while," she started, straightening up.

She thought that after they spent so much time together, she'd get used to his voice. But still a shiver ran down her spine and she grabbed the small table in front of her when he replied. Not only was his voice hoarse and murky like the ocean's bottom, it was also coming from much _closer_ than she'd expected. “Had some things to do.”

“Right,” she chuckled, trying to hide the crack in her voice. Apparently she wasn't used to anything after all. “Many guilty people on the streets lately.”

“'Hm,” he hummed in agreement. She still didn't turn. “Like rats.”

“I bet your friends are happy, then.”

“Not really.”

She heard the characteristic sound of a flipped coin. Braced herself and finally ordered her muscles to turn around. Another shiver crawled up her back as she sank right into his eyes. She blinked, trying to re-focus on the golden kraken in his hand.

“Payin' for someone?”

He reached out with the coin, waiting. She looked back at him, forced herself to smirk. “Hate to disappoint you, but I don't plan to need it.”

His eyes stayed on her. “Hate to disappoint _you_ ,” he said, a faint echo of amusement somewhere deep under the aggressive tone, “but this one's been used.”

She furrowed her eyebrows, finally taking the coin. It was wet and cold. ”'No.” She looked back up, hoping that she understood it wrong. Pyke just watched her. “I _saw_ him drown.”

He tilted his head. Right.

“Is he…?” she asked quietly.

“No.”

“Then how?”

“The Kraken Priestess,” Pyke said, seemingly losing interest in the conversation. He turned from her, looked around the cabin, sat down on the bed. He seemed tense, but then - when was he ever not.

“Don't tell me this scurve passed her test,” she scoffed. “He ain't worth a broken rat's tooth.”

“Not when the Priestess has a soft spot for him.”

“'I thought the Bearded Lady test can't be rigged?”

Pyke shrugged.

“Bilge!” She stopped the pacing that she unconsciously took up. Picked a knife up from the nightstand. “Where is he.” The ghost almost seemed impressed by the darkness in her tone. “This time, I'm gonna get his lights n' liver. I'm gonna see him dance the hempen jig. This time I ain't throwing him into the ocean,” she pierced the wood with the knife, “this time I'll see the sun burn through his body until it's nothin' but bones. Where. Is he.”

“Out of reach,” Pyke surprisingly answered, looking at the coin still in her other hand. “Nagakabouros protects him now.”

“I don't give a fuck. If the Bearded Lady decided he's worth protecting, it's not worth being called a god. I may take the test meself. Gonna confuse the giant monster. Unless Illaoi's gonna play favourites again.”

“Nagakabouros won't protect him from you if you find him,” he said, leaning back, his back to the wall. “It's the findin' that's the problem.”

“Can't ye just ask yer fucking friends to be helpful for once?”

He narrowed his eyes. “The god of the ocean wants him hidden. The ocean can't help ye find him.”

“Great.” She closed her eyes. Pinched the bridge of her nose. “Great. That fuckin' quim.” She sighed, long and heavy, and finally calmed down. Sat down right next to Pyke, leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, way past the point of being cautious. “So there's nothin' that can be done?”

He shrugged again.

“Doesn't feel like your thing, givin' up on killing.”

“I recompense.”

“Right. Forgot it doesn't matter.” She sighed again. Slowly realized many things at once. She blinked, refocusing on his leg. On their legs touching. The cold of his knee touching hers suddenly burning. “What about me?”

“They want you dead.” His voice sounded indifferent.

She sat still, surprised at the immediate reply. Tried to pick her words carefully as she inquired. “They demandin' much?”

“More than usually.”

She didn't move away. Neither did he. Sarah stared at his knee, suddenly feeling like she was walking on thin ice. Her mind went back to that time at the beach - that time Pyke wasn't really Pyke, that time the only thing that stopped him was the calling from the ocean. She opened her mouth, forcing words out if only to keep the space between them filled. “What are they sayin'?”

The silence stretched long after that. Eventually, she forced herself to turn back, finding him looking back at her. There was a struggle deep in his eyes, but the surface was just anger. Anger. Annoyance. Impatience. The will to just rush forward. She thought back to when he first saved her - these first minutes were the same, before a surprising sass broke though his tone. She wished it would happen now. "That you were there."

She wasn't. Of course. She knew that. Pyke knew that too - mostly. She forced a smirk. “Good ol' Terror tale? They aren't very original.”

“Original, no. Persuasive, yeah.”

"Do they ever shut up?" She asked just for the sake of talking.

“Sometimes. Rarely.”

She was already late for the meeting. The fate of Bilgewater was oddly unimportant to her right now. The atmosphere in the room was heavy, like they were sitting in a fog, like something was hanging right above them, ready to fall any second.

"Is there a way to make them?"

Pyke looked away, finally. She felt an invisible force let go of her throat, lungs, shoulders, as she relaxed ever so slightly. "Satisfyin' them." He said, his voice low.

"Are you gonna?"

He furrowed his eyebrows, as if the issue was not decided yet, as if he was asking the same question. She looked down at the coin in her hand, rolling it on her knuckles.

"Why?" She finally asked, the first question answered the moment Pyke walked inside and decided to talk. Sarah didn't know what answer she expected, what answer she hoped for.

No answer at all was something she could take.

She finally stood up. "If ye need some more recompense," she started, her voice unfamiliar to herself, "I've got a meetin' to attend." She smirked. "Plannin' to be the only one leavin' it."


	8. The Mist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He takes a leap to save his love. Sarah has more and more battles to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm sorry it took so long!! I got very caught up in life, then the inspiration for this fic left me completely... But I went back and re-read it, and checked all the nice comments you guys left me, and felt very bad for just leaving it like that, so... here goes!

The coast was black, dangerous and unwelcoming. She finished preparing the boat, a small wooden thing, not much packed inside of it. She looked back, at the man standing behind her, his face stern, his gaze focused on the horizon. The dark rocks. The green glow.

She was hesitant to let him go, but knew she couldn't stop him. No one could stop her in such situation. "All's ready," she murmured, quiet as to not disturb the ocean. It was calm now, calm enough for the boat to survive the road.

The man nodded in gratitude. "I'll be back," he said, determined.

Sarah nodded. She didn't really believe that - she didn't have to. It wasn't her part to play. "The Harrowing," she said slowly.

"I know. You go if you have to. We'll manage."

"Will stay as long as I can," she promised, stepping back.

The man bowed his head again before he stepped into the boat, adjusting his white cloak before sitting down. Sarah pushed it - and he was on the water, not taking a single look back.

She watched him swim, further and further away from the shore, and closer and closer to the rocks. When he was but a black dot on the ocean, she sat down and took out her guns. She checked the ammo, the mechanism, the handles. Then her eyes started mindlessly following the artistic carvings, her thoughts somewhere far from here. Far before now.

Cold wind caused her to refocus on here and now, and she instantly felt it - felt _him_. It's been a while.

Ever since Deadpool went down, Pyke didn't show up nearly as much - he never said why and she never had to ask. It still felt unfair. She kept the golden kraken he had given her on her all this time, as a grim reminder that her job is not done, as an even more grim reminder that this time she's on her own.

She didn't say anything as he materialized, didn't move as he sat down on a rock next to the one she was occupying. She waited as the silent war was happening in his head - quietly keeping her fingers crossed that, yet again, he'd be the winner.

"He's gone," he said finally, looking at the horizon. She lifted her head. She couldn't see the boat anymore.

"He was a goner for years," she said, calm. "Now he's just decided to make it official."

"Why are you still waitin'?"

She shrugged. "Some goners come back."

The silence caused her to turn and take a look at him. He was watching the horizon still, the white teeth on red bandanna almost glowing in the dim light of a single lantern hanging by. He chuckled. "An' yer the one collectin' them?"

She smirked, but didn't answer.

"The city's in motion," Pyke said, and Sarah furrowed her eyebrows, "more than usually.

"Ye mean Bilgewater?" She took a beetroot out of her pocket; A nasty habit from the old days that never quite left her. She started chewing on it, her eyes set on the horizon. The green glow seemed to grow, but that could've been her imagination. Pyke didn't answer. "Harrowing's upon us," she continued nonetheless. "Folks're nervous." She considered something for a moment. "Quite the harvest for you, too."

“Not interested.”

She raised an eyebrow. "How come?"

" _They're_ not interested."

She blinked. Couldn't find the words to form into a question.

"They disappear," he said, not taking his eyes off the horizon, "for the Harrowing."0

She stared at him. He slowly turned towards her, and she was pretty sure she imagined the suggestion in his eyes. Still, she followed it.

"Givin' you days off? We gotta celebrate _that_."

He snorted. "By fightin' the mist?"

“What did you usually do?” She tried to imagine Pyke walking the streets of Bilgewater, pretending to be just a regular citizen. Did he change somewhere? And if yes then… what into? It didn't seem possible.

She figured he was more likely to just stalk around in the fog like usually. Maybe less killing involved.

He didn't answer, instead turning his attention back to the horizon. "What did your friend want to do again?"

She looked just in time to see the green erupt from the rocks, lights and fog exploding over the sky. Light points started flying from it absurdly fast. One of them aimed straight at her - she had enough time to see the fuzzy, ghostly skull shape inside the glow, but didn't have time to react.

It went through her heart, and she doubled over, the force of it kicking the air out of her lungs. She managed to stop her fall with her hands, but she didn't feel them touch the ground - she barely managed to see her hands on it before everything went black, a dull echo of an ugly shriek somewhere in the distance.

" _You stole something from me_ ," a voice suddenly beamed, echoing and haunting, " _it will not be forgiven!_ "

Then a laughter, wicked, cruel laughter that kept getting louder and louder until she put her hands over her ears, until she couldn't think through the noise, until she heard her own voice scream - _STOP_!

And all at once, everything returned. It was quiet, safe for the waves gently touching the coast before shyly pulling back to the ocean. Then she could hear the wailing sound of souls flying around her. Her vision refocused.

She was kneeling on the ground, her hands still on her ears. She saw a pair of boots on the ground in front of her. She slowly looked up, somehow surprised when she saw the giant jaws - the red bandanna - the white teeth. Pyke was crouching in front of her, his face very close to her own.

She looked over his shoulder, at the rocks, saw the green mist lowering back down, saw the hundreds of souls fly from it, each in a different direction. Saw all flying towards them change the course before they could touch the Ripper - turning to the sides, creating glowy walls on both sides of her, placing her in a dark, safe cone.

Sarah looked at Pyke again, lowering her hands now that the laughter was gone. She couldn't read his eyes, but the green lights were reflected in them in a stunning way - she couldn't force herself to look away. She swallowed.

"How many gods do you think I can piss off," she started, her mouth dry, "before they collectively agree to team up 'n kill me?"

He laughed at that, a normal, _human_ laughter, something she hadn't heard from him in a long time. "Yer definitely on yer way to check that."

"It ain't fair," she continued, dumbfounded. She was afraid that if she stopped talking, if the silence stretched for too long, the spell would be broken, the lights would disappear, the ghost in front of her would revert back to a distant, wild animal. "This time I didn't even do anything."

"I saw ye preparin' the boat. They might've too."

"Shit," she managed, "aye, that could be it."

He tilted his head slightly.

"Nothin'," she answered the silent question. The lights' wall was more of a flickering curtain now, their numbers lessening considerably. She felt the moment end, the doors closing, and she was desperate to put her foot in, to stop it, to keep this forever. To pull the bandanna down, to _take a risk_. "'S just magical, a little," she murmured, but she knew there was no point trying.

It was dark, again, the only light source the lantern. And maybe Pyke's blue eyes. "Cursed, more like," he said, standing up.

She nodded, not willing to explain what she had actually meant. She gathered herself from the ground, dusted off her pants. Tried not to think too much of how he shielded her. She looked up instead, her mind clearer now. "He did it," she said suddenly. "That bilge rat bastard… he did it."

It didn't take long for her to prepare another boat, grab the lantern, and start off towards the rocks herself. Somewhere along the way, Pyke disappeared, but she wasn't surprised - he managed a lot longer, and closer, than usually. His eyes had started darting to the sides, his movement more twitchy and impulsive, and he had stopped answering her. She didn't say goodbye, she never did. But she did expect him to leave. She didn't get to spend too much time alone anyway - around 15 minutes later she noticed the boat coming from the opposite direction, and she lifted the lantern.

They met in the middle, and she helped Lucian steer the thing safely back to the shore, with an unconscious woman next to him.

Sarah let him carry her, not offering any help - judging by his face, he'd rather bite his arm off than let go of his wife now. She let them into her bedroom, prepared water for the woman - Senna, she figured from Lucian's repeated words. Then she sat down on a chair by the bed.

"What did ye do?" She finally asked, after half an hour went by in silence, safe for Lucian's quiet prayers.

"We did it," he said in awe, "we got him good."

"Who?"

"Thresh," he growled the name out. "Senna, she… she shot him. She saved me."

Sarah didn't bother explaining it was probably the other way around. She didn't want to judge the situation she wasn't a part of.

Her mind went back to the black void, to the haunting laughter. Or rather, she wasn't a _big_ part of.

She never told Lucian about that. About hundreds of lights flying through the sky, either. She made sure him and Senna were safe and sound, but spent most of the day wandering the streets of Bilgewater, looking at the horizon, expecting to see the mist any second. Especially now, that they clearly pissed something off. The entire city was tense, like a big bubble second from bursting.

Pyke didn't join her. She figured he'll appear when the voices leave him. She hoped so.

Next day, Senna woke up.

Sarah didn't comment. She didn't mention her unnatural eyes, the dark mist surrounding her; didn't mention the brief moments she seemed to lose all humanity, the way her voice gained an unfamiliar tone from time to time. Senna was weak at first, but the more time she spent conscious and awake, with Lucian near her at all times, the stronger she seemed to get. The more she seemed to remember.

She talked a lot, about the past, at first. They exchanged sweet memories, of how they've met, of their first dance, of the proposal, of every little adventure. Sarah didn't get to hear many of those - she would usually leave whenever they started these. Tactfully, she told herself. Mindfully. She bit her lip, pushing down the poisonous jabs of envy.

Then, despite Lucian begging her to not focus on it now, she talked about what happened… after. She spoke of the lantern, of hundreds of souls trapped inside of it, of the pain and the sadness and the anger, of Thresh's own soul, scared and alone in the middle of it all. Of how many were still inside, her shot enough to graze the phantom, but far from destroying it.

When Lucian was asleep, she'd tell Sarah her doubts. How she was afraid, of this world she didn't feel a part of anymore, of herself, of what she's become. Of the time lost. Of the expectations she now had to live up to. The pirate would mostly just listen, sometimes nodding here and there, sometimes offering a voice of comfort, or advice. But she didn't feel like these were needed. Really, it felt like Senna just needed to let it all out - like she was mute for years only to now find her voice. She seemed afraid that if she stopped talking, she'd lose it again.

A thought formed in Sarah's mind as she listened; A little curious question that kept growing on her, a small ray of hope that threatened to devour her unless she asked. So, after Senna went quiet for a moment, she allowed herself to do so. "The souls," she started cautiously, "in the lantern." The other woman raised her eyebrows, subtly letting her know she could continue. "Did you get to know… all of them?"

"I'm not sure. I can't say for certain I've met all. But the ones I have… yeah."

She worried at her lower lip for a moment, scolding herself for coming up with a theory so naive, so silly. For not being able to let go. "Did ye… was there…"

"We know our names," Senna said, her voice kind. She put a hand on Sarah's, her touch cold. "If you want to ask about someone close to you, go ahead."

Sarah flushed. "Close is not th' word I'd use."

Senna raised an eyebrow, a tease somewhere in her eyes, but she didn't say anything.

"Pyke," the redhead said quietly.

Senna leaned back, her eyebrows furrowing in thoughts. After what felt like forever, she looked up at Sarah, apologetically. "I'm sorry, I don't recall them."

Sarah nodded. She expected such an answer. She felt even more stupid now.

"But Thresh is not the only one who keeps The Ruined King's trophies." The woman tried. "How did he take them?"

"Drowned… I think." The pirate sighed. She really only knew the story. What chance was there that his soul went to the Ruined King, anyway? "Just… let it go."

"The Harrowing," Senna said after a moment, changing the subjects. "You said it's close."

"The alignment's done," Miss Fortune answered, thankful for the question, for the lack of dwelling, "Been ready for two days."

"The world's partying," Senna smiled in an all-knowing matter, "while we wait for the apocalypse."

"Ye lookin' up to it?"

"I suppose. It'll feel good. Like regaining a piece of my past."

"While givin' the soul snatchers a piece of yer mind."

"Sounds like the perfect day." Senna chuckled, but the sound died out at the end, as if she didn't have the energy to keep up the act. She looked to the side, at sleeping Lucian. Worry bloomed on her face. "You think he'll let me?"

"I think if he tries to stop ye, it's because he's afraid to lose ye again." Sarah smiled. "But ye shouldn't let him. You gotta show him now, that you're you. Not some pricey doll to put on a shelf 'n admire."

"Oh, I'd like to see him try."

And then, there was a scream, a low growl ran through the entire Bilgewater, and all three of them were running out, weapons ready. Sarah looked at the mist, glowing and hungry and racing towards the city, heard the cries of the damned armies hiding in it. She readied her guns, took a single look at Senna and Lucian. They all nodded and went forward.

The Harrowing was upon them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone excited to see the Ripper without the Drowned Ones?


	9. First Wave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Harrowing is upon them.

Sarah turned the corner and slammed her back into the wall, frantically reloading her pistols. The fog was so thick she could barely see her hands, and the sound of fighting and the screaming of the damned souls mixed together in the air.

She saw someone stalk nearby, reaching out with their hands to find a wall, to ground themselves.

"Over here!" She yelled at them, unlocking the guns.

A black mist swirled into the alley, like a snake looking for its prey. Sarah shot at it before it could reach the other person, and the corrupted air dissolved into the fog. She looked up, about to yell again, to steer them to the safety of the wall.

A spirit was standing over them, closing its claws around their shoulders. The man, Sarah realized, didn't even move - he looked to be in a trance of sorts, his eyes hazy and unfocused, as the creature opened its mouth and shrieked, crushing his bones under its palms. He fell to the ground, disappeared in the fog, and the bounty hunter jerked to action and shot the soul before it could do the same. It cried again, this time painful and angry, and then leaped at her.

Sarah tumbled out of the way and then fired another volley at the wraith, piercing its body apart. Its haunting screams died out as its upper half disappeared in the fog.

She breathed out, looking into the direction the corpse should be. She had to get the man out of here, or his own soul would soon be joining the enemy ranks. She took careful steps, nudging the ground she could not see until her foot bumped into something. She dove down and grabbed him by the chest, then pulled him towards the nearest cemetery.

The undertakers were prepared, quickly taking the body from her. She didn't take a look back before she ran back out into the fog.

It was the worst at the shore. The line between the ocean and the mist was nonexistent - it looked like an enormous wave of the damned souls was falling down on Bilg. The serpent callers managed to keep most of it away from the city, but the spirits kept spilling inside.

Someone nearby was struggling and she aimed steadily before she fired, hitting the mark and killing the wraith. She tried to ignore the painful screams around her as she kept firing, the spirits disappearing and melting back into the mist. 

Something grabbed her leg suddenly, and she shot before she turned to look.

But one shot apparently wasn't enough, as she felt the strong pull and stumbled down on the ground. She saw the white face, the hollow eyes, and the torn body, ending abruptly at the chest, and almost chuckled bitterly at the wicked karma.

She kicked it off before shooting once more, making sure it died this time, then scrambled back up only to stand face to face with a more problematic enemy - an armored one, wielding a sword and a shield, its glowing eyes barely visible under the helmet.

Sarah managed a single curse before it swung the sword at her. She stumbled back, but not entirely out of reach. She hissed as the blade cut through her corset, drawing blood.

The spirit howled as it rushed forward, raising its shield. Sarah didn't even try shooting through the damned thing - she jumped out of the way, let the spirit run past her, and raised the gun to shoot at its exposed neck. And then another sword landed in her side.

Everything froze for a moment, and she could hear the blade being pulled out of her, unnaturally loud. She looked down, placed a hand on the wound, then raised it slowly and stared at the crimson blood.

The warrior was already raising the sword for another hit. She looked at him, her mind screaming for her to move, and somehow, miraculously, she managed to dive down and tackle the spirit's legs, knocking it off balance. She wheezed as they both fell to the ground, then blew its head off.

Then pressed against her side, curling up in the fog. She felt the wood shift near her, and realized someone stopped next to her. Remembered the armored spirit, still unharmed. Grit her teeth and forced her arm to raise once again, aiming the pistol.

But it wasn't a haunted spirit next to her.

It was a woman, big and muscular, wielding an idol Sarah instantly recognized.

"Got yourself in a bit of a pickle, hm?" The Priestess winked before she lifted the idol and smashed it down.

Sarah faintly thought that the dock is going to give out under so much power, but it didn't. The fog around them cleared, creating a safe sphere. Miss Fortune could see the spirits retreating towards the mist. Then the Priestess muttered something under her breath before she hit the ground with the idol once again.

Sarah watched as tentacles rose from the ocean and smashed down on the spirits, destroying every single one around them.

Illaoi straightened up, placing the idol on her shoulder. She turned towards the pirate again, smiling. "Now, let's get you patched up."

Sarah found herself frowning before she was being lifted up and carried through the city. She focused on pressing against the wound.

"I hear you're the one who brought him to me," Illaoi said suddenly, her voice more serious.

Sarah winced. "Technically."

The Priestess laughed at that. "I know you preferred him dead. But he is a changed man, now."

"For sure," she deadpanned. "I'd wanted to talk about it for a while now, but maybe… not now."

"Why, the adrenaline from the battle is a great motivator!" Illaoi smiled again. "Who knows when we may meet again."

"I must admit," Sarah wheezed out, "it is hard to catch ye."

"I find that the people who really want to find me manage," the Priestess replied, the smile getting replaced with a curious look on her face. "Many people simply _think_ they want it."

"I have too little blood in me for the Nagakabouros dialect," Sarah forced out, suddenly feeling exhausted.

Illaoi smiled again. "The test awaits you, Fortune. But you're not ready yet."

Sarah groaned, but before she could produce a reply through the pain and exhaustion, the woman was placing her down, and the pirate recognized Senna's eyes under the hood, watching her in worry. She turned towards Illaoi, but the Priestess was already gone.

"I'm sorry, Sarah," Senna said, causing the redhead to turn yet again, "we lost you and then it got very heated, we didn't even think to look for you."

She pointed her gun at the pirate, and Sarah closed her eyes. She knew it was for her own good, but waiting to get shot was against every single one of her instincts.

The white pulse went through her body and she exhaled, feeling the pain die out, the wound close itself, her own brain finally catching up with the world around her.

"Good," she said, opening her eyes. Senna was still looking at her apologetically. Lucian was standing next to his wife, throwing them both a look every once in a while in-between shooting salves of light. "You're not my babysitters."

"It is worse than ever before, though," Senna said, finally turning towards the enemies. "And as sentinels…"

"Ye gotta protect all of them," Sarah cut her off, allowing herself a few more seconds before she would jump back into action, "not just my arse."

"What we mean," Lucian spoke, loud and pointed, "is that we needed you here on the front line with us. Not getting mauled in back alleys."

Sarah blinked. "...Oh."

"So better grab your gear and get ready," the man continued, his eyes not leaving his target anymore, "because there's a big one comin'."

There went her extra seconds. She checked her pistols, allowed herself one more peaceful breath, and joined the married couple at the barricade.

* * *

The Harrowing, like many things in Bilgewater, came in waves.

Sarah couldn't feel her body anymore by the time the first wave gave out, the spirits drawing back, the Black Mist letting the city breath again. They knew they had a day or so before it attacked again, its strength not only renewed, but enriched with new warriors it had claimed itself.

There was barely anything left of it at the docks now, except for the bodies and abandoned weapons of the unlucky few that had been taken physically.

Sarah could still hear the screams long after they were gone, long after she accompanied Lucian and Senna back to their room, long after she bandaged her new wounds (there was only so much a sentinel's gun could do). She was sitting next to them, looking out the window at the Black Mist hovering over the horizon, at the first rays of the morning sun reflecting in the angry waves, ignoring her pain and exhaustion.

Lucian and Senna were discussing the strategy for the following night, pointing at a sheet of paper between them. Sarah could feel them glancing at her from time to time, but she'd decided she didn't have the strength to care anymore. She just pressed against her side and counted the glimmers in the murky water.

She blinked.

Pyke. She almost forgot about him amidst all the chaos. Almost didn't search for the red bandanna between the spirits, between the humans. But he still hasn't shown up.

She stood up, suddenly, and turned to the couple.

"Sarah?" Senna started towards her, her hand reaching out as if the pirate was about to fall down.

"I'm fine," she said, picking up her hat from the counter, and heading towards the door, "I'll see you when the second wave crashes."

Lucian frowned, but didn't try to stop her as she walked out the door, as Senna shot him an accusatory look.

The morning air was colder than usually, hurting her face as she walked the streets. She ignored the sparse people who walked past her, calling out the names she didn't recognize, collecting the bodies, fixing the blockades around their houses. She focused only on putting one foot in front of the other and _not_ passing out, hoping she'd unconsciously end up where she wanted to be.

The familiar beach welcomed her with nothing but an unfriendly breeze. She stood still for a moment, taking it in, waiting, letting the disappointment fill the empty spaces left by the blood loss. She swallowed eventually, looked down at her bloodied hand, and barked out a laugh.

"For Bearded Lady's sake," she scoffed to herself, turning on her heel, "where did yer self-preservation go, Fortune?" She asked herself in a whisper, walking back towards the city, towards her own cabin, her own bed.

She collapsed on it as soon as she entered the room, and felt the sleep take her instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long, I left the fic for quite a while re-figuring out the story and what not! Viego kind of came and CRUSHED a lot of headcanons I've had hahah,, I'm so disappointed he doesn't have a special interaction with anyone from the Ruined King game crew, except Illaoi? :((  
> Btw the design choices that Riot took with MF lately are just GLORIOUS, I love her more n more! Aaaa
> 
> Either way, at first I wanted to maybe wait for the Ruined King game and then handle the lore accordingly, but then... eh?  
> Funnily enough, we don't canonly know a lot about the Harrowing I think? (or I can't look for info efficiently) I bet this year will bring even more explanations, but for now it's basically just... the damned souls from The Shadow Isles spilling all over Runeterra. So uh. [gestures] There they are, the souls! It turned out a bit as a filler chapter of sorts; I'm postponing Pyke's appearance myself at his point uM.
> 
> Also changed the formatting so there are no more huge empty spaces between each paragraph! I'll probably go back and fix it in the previous chapters as well. ...eventually 
> 
> As always, any kudos and comments are appreciated, and thank you for reading!


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